


The Serpent’s Den

by Alisanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco doesn’t like it when others steal his attention. He does find he can sometimes share it, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Serpent’s Den

**Author's Note:**

> **Challenge:** Written for the 2014 HD Cliche Fest. Cliche(s) used: #19: Club!fic and #85: Parselsmut
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. 
> 
> **Notes:** Thanks to Sevfan and Emynn for their assistance.

~

The Serpent’s Den

~

It’s been a bad day at the Ministry, which is why Draco skips going home for supper, instead heading straight for his favourite club, The Serpent’s Den. He’s unusually early, but he’s in a mood; once again he’s been passed up for promotion, and he feels like fucking someone, anyone, against a wall to make himself feel better. It doesn’t always work, but it’s all Draco’s got, so he’s going with it.

The Serpent’s Den is crowded, even at this time, and Draco, accustomed to garnering attention, sashays in, expecting to be propositioned within moments. 

Oddly, it doesn’t happen. He gets a few speculative looks, but no one approaches, and he’s forced, for perhaps the first time in months, to pay for his own drinks. 

The crowd seems focussed on someone on the dance floor, so Draco, after downing his first Firewhisky, orders a second, sipping it more slowly as he navigates his way toward whatever is hogging everyone’s attention. 

It’s a man, of course. No surprise, given the sort of club this is, and as Draco eyes the man’s leather-clad arse, he has to admit, it is a fine one. 

Lips pursed, Draco notices the way everyone’s attention is on the new bloke - Draco would have noticed that arse before - and he huffs. _He’s_ usually the centre of attention. To have this newcomer, this interloper, this--

Draco’s eyes widen as the man turns, still gyrating. “Oh, fuck,” he moans as he recognises his competition.

Harry fucking Potter, looking nothing like he had that morning when Draco had passed by him at the Ministry, is clearly in the zone. Eyes closed, head thrown back, he moves his lips like a fucking whore, and Draco wants nothing more than to bury himself in the centre of that gyration and fuck him until he can’t walk. 

A second later, however, Draco is pissed. Potter has come to _his_ club, and is taking all _his_ attention. It’s a blatant challenge, one Draco doesn’t intend to let go unanswered. Knocking back what’s left of his drink, Draco pushes his way through the crowd until he’s finally close to Potter. 

Potter is still ignoring everyone, despite attempts of the men grinding against him to catch his attention. The moment Draco brushes against him, however, Potter’s eyes pop open as if he’s somehow been waiting. He stares at Draco. “Malfoy,” he finally murmurs, as if they’re still at the bloody Ministry. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Draco musters a smirk. “Slumming, Potter?”

Potter, still moving his hips, shrugs. “I’ve heard about this place but I’ve never been here. Thought I’d give it a try tonight.” 

“You _do_ realise the sort of club this is, don’t you?” Draco asks. 

Potter hums and, pressing back against the bloke who’s grinding him from behind, says, “Oh, I believe so.” The other bloke’s hands settle on Potter’s hips and Potter smirks. “Aren’t you going to dance?” 

Draco narrows his eyes. “Don’t get used to the attention, Potter,” he spat. “You’re about to see how it’s really done.” 

As Draco starts to turn away, however, Potter grabs his arm. “Why does everything have to be a competition with you?” 

Draco tries to pull away, but Potter tightens his grip. “Let me go,” he grits out. 

Potter moves forward, hips still gyrating. “Come on, Malfoy,” he says, the low purr of his voice somehow audible over the thumping music. “Dance with me.” 

It’s tempting, but Draco has become accustomed to resisting temptation. “Seems to me that you have plenty of other potential partners,” he says instead, tossing his head. 

That’s when Potter pulls out the big guns. He smirks. “What’s the matter, Malfoy? Scared?”

Draco knows what Potter’s doing, but he can’t resist. “You think you can handle dancing with me?” 

Potter’s smirk is pure sin. “Try me and see.” 

Draco’s not about to back away from a challenge like that, and as they grind against each other in time to the throbbing music, the rest of the club seems to fade into the background. 

Potter knows what he’s about; he quickly loops his arms around Draco’s neck, straddles his leg, and starts undulating, his hips in constant motion. Within moments, Draco’s as hard as he can remember being, and it’s taking all his self-control not to just march Potter off the dance floor and fuck him until he can’t walk. 

“Then do it,” Potter whispers, staring straight into his eyes. 

For a moment Draco wonders if Potter Legilimised him. 

Potter smiles. “It’s clear you want me. And I want you. So why not?” 

Why not, indeed? There are about a thousand reasons, of course, but Draco doesn’t need to list them. Potter knows them even better than he does. And, well, Draco is _aching_ to fuck him. Without a word, Draco dances Potter through the crowd until they get to one of the walls lining the dance floor. It’s not private, far from it, but it’s not the centre of the dance floor either, and they will have a bit more room to work. 

“I thought you’d want to put on a show,” murmurs Potter as Draco pushes him against the wall. 

“We _are_ putting on a show,” says Draco, leaning in, his arms on either side of Potter’s head, his mouth hovering just above Potter’s. “Just a more intimate one.”

Potter smirks, licking his lips. “Yeah, I suppose we are.” His gaze flicks someplace behind Draco, and Draco imagines all the people staring, their hands down their pants. Draco’s heart speeds up. 

Potter returns his attention to Draco. “I suppose we should make it a good one, then,” he purrs. 

Draco starts to ask what the fuck he’s talking about, but Potter’s already moving. Eyes locked on Draco’s, he’s sinking to his knees, his hands pressed to the front of Draco’s skintight trousers. 

Exhaling, Draco bites back a moan as Potter leans in and mouths his erection through his clothes, and even before Potter’s mouth is actually on him, Draco’s fingers are digging into the walls. 

Potter makes short work of Draco’s flies and as he takes Draco in his mouth, it’s all Draco can do not to come immediately. Potter doesn’t make it easy, however, he clearly knows his way around a cock, and within moments, Draco’s breath is coming in harsh pants and he’s thrusting into Potter’s mouth.

Draco’s about to come, he can feel it. He’s seconds away, lightning is shooting up his spine, his eyes are closed tightly, and his hands are fisted--

Pulling off, Potter stands. 

Draco opens his eyes and stares at him, speechless. But before he can even get off a hex or a curse or anything, Potter is turning, facing the wall, his hands splayed as he bends over, presenting himself. 

“What are you doing?” Draco manages. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Potter tosses over his shoulder. “Or are you not up for that?” 

Draco’s eyes narrow and he paws at Potter’s leather trousers, pressing up against him. “Does this feel like I’m not up for it?” he growls. 

Potter hums, whispering something sibilant that sizzles against Draco’s senses. His trousers slide down, baring his arse. 

“What...what was that?” Draco gasps, fingers slipping between Potter’s cheeks. 

“Parseltongue.” Potter arches back as Draco’s fingers find his hole. “It’s more useful than English for some things.” 

Draco bites his lip. “You’re already loose,” he says. 

Potter, still braced against the wall, drops his head between his shoulders. “Like I said. Parseltongue is useful.” 

Draco somehow conjures some lube in his hand and, slicking himself, presses his cock to Potter and _pushes_. He sinks deep, and, biting back a groan, starts to move in and out. 

The music throbs around them as he moves, and Potter is meeting his every thrust. Draco’s sure they have a crowd watching at this point but he doesn’t care, he keeps going, one hand gripping Potter’s hip while the other is bracing himself against the wall. 

Potter has a hand on the wall, too, and, some dim instinct makes Draco move his hand atop Potter’s and link their fingers as he fucks him. 

It seems to be the right move since that contact makes Potter arch his back more, take Draco deeper. Draco’s chest is now pressed up against Potter’s back as they move, Potter’s muscles gripping him, clinging to his cock. 

Draco feels it when Potter starts to come, feels the tremors take his body. He holds out until Potter’s shaking stops and then he pounds into him, growling. At one point he thinks he even bites Potter on his neck, but as his orgasm washes over him and he comes, spilling into Potter, he doesn’t care. 

After he catches his breath, Draco draws back, slipping out of Potter.

They fumble, adjusting their clothes, and when Potter finally turns around, Draco is surprised to find him smiling. “What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” Potter asks, sounding casual. 

Draco shrugs. He’s feeling oddly relaxed; usually it takes several encounters for that to happen, especially given his earlier mood. “I should probably eat something.” 

Potter inclines his head. “I should, too. I haven’t had dinner yet.” He grimaces. “And cocktails don’t count.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Are you...suggesting we eat together?” 

“Why not?” Potter’s gaze slides over Draco and he hums. “And maybe afterwards... Well, I’m interested to see what else we can manage tonight.”

Slowly, Draco smirks. He’s suddenly in a much better mood. “Lead on,” he says. And as Potter does, Draco’s eyes drop to his arse and he licks his lips. Yes, it seems he’s discovered the perfect end to a bad day.

~


End file.
